


Holmes for the Holiday

by SherlockMalfoy



Series: Sherlock!Wizardverse Drabbles - General [32]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Freeform, Gen, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 11:03:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockMalfoy/pseuds/SherlockMalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A special Sherlock!Wizardverse holiday tale.</p>
<p>Ravenclaw twins Harriet and Hudson Watson-Holmes bring their dear friend Rowan Weasley home to Baker Street for winter holiday. John (and occasionally Sherlock) make the boy welcome. If he thought muggles were already strange, he hadn't expected the special flavor of weird that can only be found at Baker Street. - parent!lock so fluffy it'll give you cavities</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holmes for the Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> We are both Americans so there are bound to be a plethora of Americanisms. This has not been properly britpicked.  
> And Happy Christmas to everyone.

He didn't know what to expect when he and his friends had stepped off the train in King's Cross. Certainly the man standing on the platform with a sign reading **WATSON-HOLMES** was not among the few scenarios that had presented themselves to him. And certainly the sharp dressed woman beside him had not factored into his thoughts.

"Children," she said when the three of them had come closer. "Ludvig, the luggage," she said before turning. He walked beside his friends who cheerfully followed her through the barrier into the muggle station.

"Who's that?"

"Let me ask," Hudson said, then did so a bit louder so that the woman would hear.

She hummed a bit as if in thought then calmly replied, "Um…. Marpesia," she said and continued to tap away at her muggle machine.

Hudson turned to his friend and gave a shrug. "She does that," he said. "I don't think uncle Mycroft even knows her real name."

He followed his friends through the train station, hands in his pockets and his bag hanging off his shoulder. By the time they had gotten outside and to the black car waiting for them, his twin friends were already chattering away between them. He could have sworn he'd heard the words "triple murder in Santa's Village" before they climbed into the car. He was hesitant, waiting by the open door and looking rather out of sorts until a smiling face with a mop of curly blond hair poked out. "Rowan, get in here. If we're late father will have a fit and daddy will be grumpy all day because of it."

He gave her a sheepish smile and let Ludvig take his bag to stow away in the trunk.

Soon the young wizard was watching out the windows excitedly, his face pressed against the tinted glass as he watched the muggle world pass them by. He was not so sheltered as to have never been beyond the borders of the wizarding community, but he didn't spend a lot of time in the world his friends had come from so the novelty of muggles had not waned for him.

As the twins plotted world domination with silent glances and secret signals, the woman who called herself Marpesia sat silently with her device, tapping away and seeming as if she were oblivious to it all.

Ludvig just drove the car, swearing loudly on the other side of the glass partition. He hated driving through holiday traffic. But it was either this or have to listen to his boss bitch and moan about his brother endangering the country by ignoring the Official Secrets Act.

Again.

**o0o**

John stood back and looked at the tree standing in their living-room. It was crooked, and nothing he could do would make it any less so. Sherlock had cast a few charms to get it to straighten out. He had succeeded only in making it talk with slurred and drunken speech (which lasted an hour and a half). Then had caused it to grow roots, which burrowed into the floorboards; but it was quickly fixed by Hamish after John shouted abuse at the thing. And then finally Sherlock had tried one final time, only succeeding in making it bushier than before. Every attempt to trim it back caused twice as much growth so the three of them just gave up and decided to start decorating the blasted thing.

And now, it was nearly finished. There were some baubles left, much to Sherlock's annoyance, that the muggle had set aside for the twins to place on the tree when they got home. After all Harriet was very vocal, even as a teen, about who was and was not allowed to place her special hedgehog ornaments on their Christmas trees.

"I think it looks rather nice already," John said as Hamish gave a silent nod of agreement, then he frowned and pointed at the top of the tree where the star had begun to lean to the side. John smiled and ruffled his dark curls. "Well, we can have your father reach up and fix that for us later."

"I will do no such thing!" Sherlock shouted from the kitchen (where he had retreated to pout over an experiment when John and Hamish had chased him away from the tree for their own sanity.)

Hamish sighed and rolled his eyes. John gave a soft laugh. "You did a great job this year," he said. "But we're not done yet."

The silent boy gave a mischievous grin and pointed towards the fireplace. John nodded back at him. Soon the boy was standing on a stool, helping him screw the mug hooks into the mantle. "Don't forget the extra one for our guest," John reminded him, causing the boy to frown dramatically. "Don't give me that look. His father is very ill and he can't stand most of his cousins."

Hamish gave him a pointed look.

"And no, he can't stay with his grandparents because they're in quarantine after his grandfather opened a thrice cursed tomb and accidentally caused everyone around him to burp up slugs. Now go fetch the stockings. And don't load your father's up with coal. He'll spend all of Christmas day experimenting on it."

**o0o**

The twins climbed out of the car and waited on the sidewalk for Ludvig to remove their luggage from the boot. A curtain twitched in the windows above and before long the front door opened.

"Daddy!" two voices chimed in chorus as the twins ran up the steps. The red headed teen watched his friends in slight confusion. At school they had always seemed so serious. Very much mature for their young years. And yet here they were, suddenly acting like first years who barely survived their first term away from home.

He hung back and waited for the trio to break apart before giving a slight cough to remind them he was there. "Uhm. Hello," he said when their dad finally looked at him, smiling. Briefly he glanced to the woman.

"Thank you," he said, and she only gave a non-committal hand-wave towards him before sliding back into the car. The driver slammed the trunk shut and climbed back into the driver's seat. "So," their dad said as the car pulled away from the curb, leaving their luggage. "You must be Rowan."

The boy nodded. "Rowan Weasley, sir," he said.

"No need to be so formal." He looked up and down the street briefly. For what, the boy could only guess. "Okay, no one's looking." Taking that as their cue, the twins wandlessly cast a levitation charm on all three children's luggage and hurried them into the house.

Rowan gasped, eyes wide. "But-"

"Don't worry," their dad said, motioning for him to come inside. "Our man in the Ministry made sure the law only applies to wands. Come on, you look half starved. What do they feed you at that school?"

Rowan shuffled inside 221 Baker Street with his hands in his pockets. Only to be greeted with the sound of a rather loud explosion from the floor above.

He felt a hand clasp his shoulder to ease him. "Don't worry, that's just Angelo sneezing. He's got a bit of a cold."

"What-"

"John!" came a bellow from the top of the stairs. "We are out of potatoes!"

The man sighed heavily and pointed to a door. "You'll be in there with Hudson. The main rooms are at the landing. After that… well, you won't be needing to go up there."

Rowan gave a nod as a second explosion sounded, followed by the same voice. "NOT THE SKULL!"

**o0o**

Rowan lay on the spare bed in the guest room of Hudson's suite. He'd been amazed the boy had what amounted to his own flat. His friend had simply shrugged and said not to eat anything in the kitchen. If he wanted food or drinks then he had to go to the kitchen upstairs.

He didn't understand why until he took a peek into the fridge and saw a bag of human toes.

It had taken Hudson three hours to calm his friend back down, and further explanation from the boy's parents (and the addition of 3 cups of peppermint tea) had helped, but he was still experiencing a bit of shock.

Harriet's only reaction to all of this had been, "Merlin's balls! I'd hoped you still had the spleens!"

But now he lay on the spare bed, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of the strange muggle world outside. It was strange, having so much noise, so many signs of life right outside the front door in the middle of the night. Especially when one lived so far into the countryside.

Eventually he drifted off to sleep, finding that the heated blanket was far more comfortable than he'd expected it to be.

**o0o**

Rowan dressed quickly and hurried upstairs his first morning at Baker Street. He hadn't expected to find his friend's tall, and rather strange father, pacing back and forth with a tiny and fussy baby in his arms. And muttering under his breath at the child.

"Make yourself useful and hand me the blue bottle on the desk," he said suddenly. Rowan blinked at him, and the man frowned. "Unless you would like my son to blow a hole in the wall with his next sneeze."

That got the boy's feet moving. He nearly tripped over a pillow left in the floor as he hurried to fetch the bottle. It was warm to the touch. When he offered it, the man gave him a look he recognized from his friends. One that silently begged the question, "Are you an idiot?"

"Well, uncork it," he said, pausing in his pacing to sit down in a leather chair that had clearly seen much better days. The child was put on his lap, his knee bouncing beneath him, and his hand open and waiting for the bottle. He didn't even stop to say thank you when it was handed over. Only gave a small hum as he sniffed it. When he tried to get his boy to take a sip, the child's face scrunched up and he shook his head.

"Here, let me try," Rowan offered. "I'm really good with kids."

Ashen eyes narrowed, and though Rowan was quite used to the feeling of his two friends watching him closely at all times, he was not prepared for the strange feeling of being silently picked apart piece by piece. As if this strange man had opened him like a book and was raking his fingers through the words to find any fault and flaw.

Finally, he hummed again and gave a very curt nod.

Rowan approached carefully, keeping a small smile on his face, and using a light, calming voice that he always used with his younger cousins. Soon enough, he had the boy giving him a big smile, even a little laugh, which got his mouth open long enough for a bit of the remedy to be dribbled in.

Once more the boy's face scrunched up, but he didn't spit it out.

And his father looked very relieved. Rowan had expected a _thank you_ but instead was told, "Of course you are good with children. Your entire family reproduces like rabbits. There are always small children running around like wildlings."

He didn't quite know how to take that, and gave him a confused look as he got to his feet from the floor where he'd been kneeling. "I-"

He heard a chuckle from the hallway past the kitchen. "Take that as a compliment kid," the shorter, older looking man said. "It's the closest you'll ever get to a thank you."

Rowan looked back at the man and child again, but already his father was bouncing him on his knee again and rattling off something about elements and helium.

**o0o**

They'd gone out a few times for errands. There was a small Christmas party at Mike and Molly Stamford's. And an adventure in a mall with John where Hamish got lost and Angelo couldn't stop hiccuping (which caused Christmas tree light displays to blink and tree toppers to suddenly go crooked when he passed). And yet another trip out for last minute shopping in Diagon Alley with the twins' uncles Mycroft and Greg. Rowan got a lot of sugar quills to send back to all his cousins.

On the day before Christmas Eve, 221 Baker Street was filled with the smells of cinnamon, pumpkin spice, and fresh baked biscuits. Three teens helped John mix batch after batch while Hamish silently put together gift bags full of them. These, John had explained, were for the clinic where he worked. For the sick children that would come by after Christmas. Rowan questioned why sick children would be given sweets, and Sherlock, who had just come in to fetch a sippy cup of juice for Angelo, had told him to stop asking stupid questions, and continued on his way.

The boy could definitely see where his friends got their odd behaviour from. He continued mixing cookies while John, smiling and laughing, explained that they may not be able to eat the cookies when they came in, but they could take them home and have something to look forward to when they were well again. And also that he liked to give the children gifts and this was a cheap way of doing it.

**o0o**

Christmas Eve started with a shout and pounding footsteps.

Rowan and Hudson went upstairs to find Sherlock stalking about the flat frantically searching for something with John shouting at him.

"You can't! It's Christmas Eve!"

"I am aware of what the date is John!" he snarled back as he picked up pillows and tossed them haphazardly over his shoulder.

"You promised, not during the holiday!"

"Tell that to the men who just murdered their third group of carolers!"

"Sherlock-"

"I would not take a case today if I did not think it urgent. This is a mass murderer with a twisted sense of holiday humour and Inspector Donovan," he said, the name spat out bitterly with as much disgust as he could possibly force into it, "will only let yet another criminal get away because she is too incompetent for her position! Now where is my wand!"

"You don't even know magic is involved Sherlock," John said quickly.

"Their hearts stopped. The bodies were not in place long enough for hypothermia to set in. The photos clearly showed they were not killed at the scene, but rather dumped. That many bodies with no track marks to show where they've been dragged through the snow? I must not rule out the possibility. Now I ask you again. Where. Is. My. Wand!"

Hudson took his friend by the arm and hurried up the stairs to the door at the next landing. He knocked gently, and it opened quickly to reveal a bleary eyed 8 year old rubbing at his face. "Wait here with Hal," Hudson said, then hurried up another flight of stairs to fetch his sister.

Soon, the three teens were crouching just inside the door of the younger children's room, the door cracked and listening in on the shouting match below.

"Are they always like this?" Rowan whispered.

The twins looked at one another before Harriet sighed. "No, not usually. I mean, they do shout a bit at each other sometimes. Uncle Crofty's said they've always been like that."

"Aren't you worried?"

"Why?" Hudson asked, narrowing his eyes to read his friend more clearly. "Oh… I see. No, we're not worried. Because we know father is quite difficult. He's very temperamental and impatient. Always has been. Dad's the opposite. Not all sunshine and smiles, but he's pretty down to earth."

"With the patience of a saint, our dad," Harriet added. "It's obvious they don't like fighting each other. But father's so stubborn, and it's the only way anyone can get him to listen. Plus, daddy's the only one who can get away with shouting at him like that. He's just worried, is all. Getting old, can't go out on cases as often as he used to. Plus he has to stay home more to look after Hamish and Angelo."

She would have said more, but the stomping footsteps were louder, and now pounding out to the landing. They stopped just a few steps down, and three sets of eyes peered out of the door to see the back of John Watson as he stood on the landing below, with Sherlock's arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace, the two men pretty even height wise due to the stairs.

"See," the twins hissed together as the two men let go and Sherlock raced down the stairs and out the front door.

John stood there a few moments longer before heaving a great sigh and saying, "I know you're all up there. Come down and I'll make some pancakes."

**o0o**

All day John was dithering. All day he was keeping himself busy with cleaning. Or baking (even though they really didn't need any more muffins). Or on his computer. Or on his phone. Watching Doctor Who on the telly. Watching random Christmas programs on the telly. Sitting and staring angrily at the faded yellow smiley face on the wall with the bullet holes still in it.

Every time his phone rang or made the most ridiculous (and too rude for a trio of 14 year olds to hear) sound he'd jump and grab for it.

Finally, as the clock ticked past seven there was a knock at the front door.

"That'll be your uncles," John said, looking to Harriet. She gave a smile and went to get the door.

Rowan watched John as the man tried his best to be cheerful. But it didn't quite reach his eyes. The man was clearly still very worried about his husband. "I'll, uh, make some cocoa," Rowan offered, and John nodded to him.

Hudson followed into the kitchen under the pretense of helping to make and carry the drinks. The two boys whispered back and forth to one another even as two men walked into the flat.

"Mycroft, Greg. So glad you came."

"Where's-"

"Working," Harriet supplied in quick answer to her uncle Greg's question. He had a grim look about him before giving a nod and handing the girl the bag of gifts.

"I overheard your aunt Lily say she was going to stop by tomorrow with your grandparents," he said.

"Really?!" She beamed happily, then peered into the bag. John called out to her to put them over by the tree.

The two boys returned from the kitchen with their tray of mugs. Cocoa for the kids, and hot tea for the adults. Hudson carried a sugar bowl and a small pitcher of milk.

They listened to muggle Christmas stories, and some of John and Sherlock's early holiday time adventures. Harriet demanded a short version of her parent's second Christmas together. Which also explained why her grandfather Draco walked with a permanent limp and a cane.

They sang Christmas carols. Had more cocoa and tea. The kids told some funny stories about school. And Rowan laughed and laughed. And he was delighted to see that despite John's worry, his smiles seemed to be getting a little more brighter.

Then came time for the gifts. Greg explained for Rowan's benefit that on Christmas Eve, the children were only allowed to open their gifts from Mycroft and himself. The rest had to wait for the morning. The boy was surprised to find that they had brought him one, too.

Angelo received new clothes, as it was hard to find something age appropriate for his very small size. Hamish had been given a potions book copied entirely by hand from the original volumes of Severus Snape. This was one of a set of four, of which Hamish already had the first. (The originals were kept by the Potter-Malfoy estate and treasured as family heirlooms. For those recognized to have a high aptitude for potions, Draco himself would hand copy every page and give it as a gift around the ages of 7-10. Sherlock also has his own set.) Harriet received a new phone, which Mycroft assured her had been thoroughly tested in the wizarding world and would indeed work at Hogwarts. Hudson received a new top of the line cauldron with a set of very rare ingredients. When Rowan began to question how they had found some of them, Mycroft had warned him off the topic by stating that what the Ministry didn't know was in the country wouldn't hurt them. Rowan received a very lavish set of dragonhide bound journals, and a set of professional grade quills. Ink in a rainbow of colors. And a publishing guide written specifically for the wizarding world.

"I… I…" he'd stammered, looking up from his gifts.

"Harriet tells us you are a writer," Mycroft said just as John's phone rang. He excused himself after seeing the number as Sherlock's, and slipped back to their bedroom. Only Hamish and Mycroft had noticed.

"I, well, sir, I… It's only silly little stories. Nothing, really."

"Nonsense," Greg said happily, taking Angelo from Mycroft and playing with his little hands. "She sent us a few, and they're really good. Even made Myc crack a smile. That's a hard thing to do, kid."

"Aside from the obvious spelling and grammatical errors," Mycroft said, "I quite enjoyed the one about the weasel and the foxes. I assume that is about yourself and the twins."

Rowan's cheeks burned as Hudson grinned. Harriet gave her friend a pat on the arm. "What he means to say is," she said. "He liked them, and encourages you to continue writing. Because he thinks you're very good at it."

"Now say thank you," Hudson chimed in.

"I… I… But-"  
Before he could continue, John came back out with a relieved look on his face. All eyes turned to him when he hurried through to get to the front door. "Sherlock's down at the Yard. Sally handcuffed him to a chair and confiscated his wand. I'll be back as soon as I can persuade her to let him go."

"I'll make a few calls," Mycroft said, and Greg handed over his phone. As Mycroft set to work, and John left to deal with his husband and a soon to be even more irate Inspector Donovan, Greg just laughed. Grateful he had retired when he did.

**o0o**

By the time Sherlock and John returned home, Hamish and Angelo had been put to bed. The teenage trio was sitting up watching telly and eating junk food.

"It's 3AM. Go to bed," Sherlock had snapped as he passed through to the bedroom.

"Why, we'll only be waking up again in a few hours," Harriet said at the same time her brother intoned that sleep was boring.

Rowan had poked his head out from under the blanket he'd been using to keep himself warm. "Everything alright?"

John gave a nod. "Go on. We'll have a late Christmas this year. Don't you dare wake us up before ten."

"But aunt Lily and-"

"They're coming 'round at five. That's still plenty of time for us to get some sleep. Now march."

Groaning and moaning the trio departed, but purposely left their dishes right where they were. Once he was sure they had gone to their rooms, John peeled off his coat and went to get ready for bed.

Just as he was walking into the room, he caught sight of Sherlock downing a glass of milk John hadn't noticed he'd fetched from the kitchen.

"Oh?" he said, raising a brow at him. "I don't think I should," he said, closing the door behind him. "You were very naughty today, after all."

"Shut up and get over here before I change my mind," Sherlock commanded. "And lose the clothes."

**o0o**

Christmas Day at Baker Street began, like the day before, with a shout.

But this time it was a much happier shout. Sherlock and John had emerged from their room, very tired and very tousled, fifteen minutes after Angelo's outburst.

"We know there isn't a Santa," Harriet said conspiratorially to Rowan. "But daddy always insists on waiting until the night before to put out the bulk of our gifts. For tradition's sake."

"Plus," Hudson whispered, "He loves the look of surprise we get before we're too old for it."

Tiny Angelo was climbing through what to him was a mountain beneath the Christmas tree, until Sherlock scooped him right up and settled on the sofa with him. Hamish and John passed out the presents, and once more Rowan was surprised by the fact he got any let alone the number of them. He looked at the tags, and of course some were from his friends. There was one from Mr. and Mr. Watson-Holmes. And a few were from…

"Your mother sent an owl a few weeks ago shortly after we accepted our daughter's request that you join us for the winter holiday," Sherlock said without looking at him, helping his son open a brightly colored package.

"Oh! They sent one for you, too Harry!" Hudson exclaimed when he saw the red gift among her stack of purple presents. John always wrapped their gifts in specific colors, just to keep from getting himself confused.

She seized the red gift and shredded the paper as she opened it. Inside was, in her opinion, the ugliest Christmas jumper she had ever seen. And when she looked over to Rowan, she saw his eyes were wide and his face a red so bright it matched his fiery Weasley hair. She narrowed her eyes, then puffed out her cheeks. "You told them didn't you. Of course you did," she said moodily. "Why else would they give me such a hideous-"

"Harriet Wynnona," Sherlock warned her with just the tone of his voice. John tried not to laugh, he really, really did.

"It's not my fault!" Rowan protested. "You know how my great aunt Hermione is! She's almost as bad as your father!"

"Yeah, but at least I don't go broadcasting to the entire planet at large!"

John could hold it no longer, and burst into a laughter so loud and so full of mirth that he could make no other sound and had to hold his sides.

"Harriet, my dear," her father said loudly over his husband's laughter. "Just be grateful his mother has accepted you as one of their own. Weasley and Malfoy do not generally enjoy one another's company."

"But father!" she whined.

Hamish hid a smile behind his new physics book while Hudson stood rubbing John's back as the man came down from his joyful high with little snorts and half laughs. "Let's go fix you a nice cuppa," the teen suggested, leading his dad to the kitchen.

Harriet glared at her father, then looked to Rowan. "We'll be having a very long discussion about this on the train back to school," she said coldly. "Especially the part about when you were planning to tell me that your family knew we were dating."

Rowan glared back at her. "And you didn't tell yours!"

"I didn't need to! It was obvious from the pressure of my quill on the parchment, and the special slant I always give to your name, that I hold the deepest affection for you. As if my word choice when speaking of you in my letters home to my parents were not telling enough. Merlin, it's as if you don't even know me at all!"

She turned her back to him and opened the remainder of her gifts silently, giving her father and her dad when he had come back from the kitchen much calmer, a very respectful word of thanks before retreating with her gifts to her bedroom.

She did take the hideous jumper with her.

John looked to Sherlock, who was busy with Angelo and Hamish. Hudson sat back on the floor with his stack of green wrapped gifts. Rowan was still red faced. Seeing this, John tried to give a comforting word or two, but the teen shrugged.

"She gets like this sometimes," he replied. "I'll just tell her how amazing and brilliant she is, and bring her a cup of her favorite tea. She'll be right as rain then."

Hudson snorted. Hamish gave one of his rare snickers. John cast a knowing smile to Sherlock, who refused to look at him and instead was playing with their youngest and his new talking story book.

**o0o**

By the time Lily and her husband Paul Dimmock came to visit with her parents, Harriet had not quite fully come back around. But at least she wasn't glaring at Rowan anymore. And she'd put on the hideous Weasley jumper. So the boy knew there was still hope.

The guests had all brought over a rather fine meal of goose and dressing and something Lily called sauce but it was more gel-like than anything.

The evening went by without incident, which was surprising since Sherlock and Draco were in the same room for more than an hour and hadn't tried to kill one another yet.

Harry and John seemed to think it was due to the fact that there had been a Weasley present. A Weasley that was clearly dating Draco's only granddaughter, an act of which Sherlock was clearly in favor of since it annoyed his father so very much.

**o0o**

The following days before the New Year were spent rushing around muggle London, chasing after Christmas sales with various gift cards they'd received in their stockings. Rowan got lost seven times, and in doing so happened to find a nice little Chinese, where they all had a rather nice dinner and Rowan learned that you can always tell a good Chinese restaurant by the bottom third of the handle.

Apparently, this was a vital fact to know in London, and Harriet stressed the importance of knowing where all the decent places to eat Chinese food were.

**o0o**

New Years Eve had been spent at Baker Street in front of the fireplace, with hot cups of cocoa, and watching muggle films all night. Harriet and Rowan made it to midnight before finally passing out cold on the sofa. Harriet was once more wearing her hideous Weasley jumper.

Sherlock and John left them there, but made sure the three teens were covered and warm before retreating back to their own room to ring in the new year.

**o0o**

January 1st, 2032 was spent gorging on cookies and cocoa with a snowball fight out by the bins. Hamish helped the littlest Holmes build a snowman. Hudson hit Rowan with a snowball so hard it knocked his hat right off his head. Harriet threw one at her brother that just knocked him out.

After spending most of the day outside in the snow, Angelo's sneezes were back, but nowhere near as destructive as they had been. John assured Sherlock that the boy had just caught a normal chill and it was not the blasting sneezes like he'd had before.

Hudson had a black eye from his sister's snowball. Rowan showed him pictures of his sister standing with a booted foot upon his chest and her arms thrown up in victory.

Harriet insisted that John blog about it.

**o0o**

The second day of the new year was spent packing for the return journey to Hogsmede the next day. Nothing of import happened other than Rowan caught the blasting sneezes and took out a toaster, a microwave, and some of the stuffing in John's chair.

**o0o**

The trio were in King's Cross, at platform 9 and 3/4. They had arrived quite early so that Harriet and Hudson could use the last of their muggle money in the vending machines of the non-wizarding part of the station. While the sweets trolly was filled with all sorts of goodies, the twins much preferred good old fashioned chocolate digestives thank you very much.

While waiting for them to return, Rowan simply sat with their luggage, toeing the ground with his shoe boredly. He looked up when Sherlock sat down on the trunk beside him. "I-" he started, but Sherlock interrupted him. "If you break my daughter's heart, the entire British government will set out to utterly destroy you. No one will be able to find your body. My brother is very efficient that way. I felt that you should know this."

Rowan swallowed hard and gave a nod. "Y… yes sir."

"Also, what are your intentions towards her?"

This, Rowan was quite sure of. Had been quite sure of since the moment he met her in first year on the train. "One day, I plan to marry her. If she'll have me that is."

Sherlock gave a small smile. "Good, you are agreed on that then."

This took the teen by surprise, and he stared in confusion at the much older wizard. "I… But…"

"Oh I didn't need to deduce that from her letters," he said. "She told John and I quite plainly in first year that she would not rest until you were her husband. I am happy to see that her efforts are not wasted. However, we had expected you to start dating a year ago. This, I assume, is quite recent? October, I believe."

Rowan could only nod.

"She is still a little upset with you at the moment. I suggest that your very first opportunity, you take her to a respectable book seller and offer to buy her one new book. Preferably on the subject of wandless dark arts defense. She is quite skilled and I believe plans to become an auror like her grandmother. That will place you back into her good graces."

The boy made a mental note of this, and hoped to remember it by the next Hogsmede weekend. Sherlock was about to say more when his twins returned with sacks full of muggle vending machine treats.

They waited, the three teens chatting about school and Sherlock clearly ignoring any other parent that came near him seeking polite conversation. At the first sight of a reporter he muttered what to Rowan sounded like utter nonsense under his breath, then continued to deduce anyone that came within a five foot radius of himself and his children.

Finally after the train had boarded and their luggage was safely stowed away for the journey, Rowan settled down into his seat beside Harriet for the return journey.

**o0o**

The next morning's Daily Prophet had a picture of the three teens and Sherlock standing on the platform, but the entire article that accompanied it had been complete gibberish. Rowan questioned his best friend about it. Hudson had stared at him as if he'd grown a second head.

"That's the _Lorem Ipsum_ curse," Harriet said, then proceeded to explain in great detail what it was.

"Ah!" Rowan exclaimed when she was through. "So that's why there's never an article about your family that makes any sense! That's very sneaky. Could get you lot in trouble, messing about with the free press like that."

Harriet gave him a smile that chilled him to the core. "Yes, but not everyone has the man who controls the minister of magic in their family, now do they?"

Rowan shivered, remembering exactly what would happen if he ever broke this girl's heart. He'd met Mycroft Holmes, and he knew better than to question the legality of anything related to their family ever again. Especially if he hoped to be included in that some day.

"Now enough of his talk," Harriet said, handing him her notebook. "I thought up a new prank that I want you to test on the Hufflepuffs tomorrow during Herbology. We'll be testing it on the Slytherins in Transfiguration. If it works, we can sell the idea to your cousins in the joke shop."


End file.
